


Dreams

by hairbearstare



Series: Dreams [2]
Category: Inception (2010), Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairbearstare/pseuds/hairbearstare
Summary: Arthur is searching for something in the desert. Max keeps having dreams.





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey I wrote a part two. Woohoo! I hope you enjoy it. Still trying to keep it somewhat open-ended.

There was blackness first.

Slowly, it became pricked by light, just little pinheads of it, like stars in the night. No sound—not even wind. Silence and darkness. It felt like hours of just staring, unblinking, at the blackness, until the sound started to come back in whispers. Tiny whispers, just saying his name. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Saying his name over, and over, and over.

_Max Max Max Max—_

He couldn't do anything, could just stare as the pinpricks of light expanded. They blew up so wide, they took over the blackness, until there was just blinding white—and the  _faces_.

Skulls. Pale corpses. Did he know them? He must have once. They were asking him to save them. Why couldn't he save them? Why didn't he? Not strong enough. Not smart enough. Couldn't do it. Couldn't save them.

Still saying his name. Almost shouting it now. His eyes burned. His eardrums ached. He couldn't take it much longer. He tried for a scream, but couldn't open his mouth. Couldn't move. Could only listen—

“Max.”

Max started awake, grabbed the hand that was touching his face in a death grip.

“Don't,” he growled, breathing laboured. There was Arthur sitting over him, teeth clenched and trying to shy away. Max let go of his hand.

“Must've been a hell of a dream,” Arthur mumbled, rubbing at the hand Max had grabbed.

“All are,” Max grunted back, eyes flicking from Arthur's face to the hand he was rubbing. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Arthur sighed. The sun had barely started to crack over the horizon, but the sky was just starting to turn light blue. Still cold enough to see your breath condense in the air. Arthur was wrapped in a tattered piece of fabric he used as a blanket, staring at his hands. “Haven't seen anyone or anything is four days. Wonder if this whole going east thing was the right decision.”

“Barely made it to Longreach. Still a ways to go to the salt flats.”

Arthur didn't say anything after that, and Max was glad. He didn't like talking, not unless it was important. They ate in silence as the sun came up and heated the sands. Max slipped a bandanna over his mouth, and started loading up his bike, trying not to feel itchy as he felt Arthur's eyes all over him.

It had been a mistake, getting that close to Arthur. Getting close to anyone. Feeling like  _that_.

A mistake.

 

-

 

Brown hair. Blue eyes. Laughter, somewhere in the distance. Pleasant warmth spread through his body, slowly; started at his toes, moving through his legs, stomach, arms, fingertips, head. No tension. No worries. Just warmth.

“Max.”

“Jess—”

Silence. Fleeting smell of flowers; faint music just out of range. Softness.

“No.” Arthur's voice.

Max cracked his eyes open. Gone. All that was left was dust, and hardness.

A good dream. He'd been having a good dream.

Max swallowed, though there was no moisture in his mouth. For the first time in so long he  _ached_  and  _missed_ and  _wanted_. He could feel a lump building in his throat, something he squashed down a long time ago. He inhaled a shaky breath and smashed the feelings down with everything he had.

“Come here,” he grunted at Arthur, pulling him down onto the bedding. Max wrapped his arms around him and held him close against the cold of the night.

“Who's Jess?” Arthur asked quietly.

“Wife,” Max mumbled against the top of Arthur's head. “She died.”

Arthur nodded and, thankfully, didn't press further. Smell of flowers fresh in his mind, Max couldn't handle it. He inhaled deeply, trying to drown out the memory of a smell with the smell of something real, and the only real thing close by was Arthur. So warm and close and solid and definitely  _real_.

Max screwed his eyes shut, held onto Arthur like he was drowning. He felt like he was drowning for real, could feel his lungs filling up, but he was getting no air. Tried not to show it with his shaky breathing. Tried to stay planted in reality.

Arthur's hands were on his chest, fingers splayed out. Max could feel them pushing gently against him, trying to push him away. Max just held on tighter.

“Can't breathe,” Arthur mumbled against Max's throat, felt a little nip there, a hint of a tongue.

Max just grunted and inhaled again against Arthur's hair. He could feel Arthur wriggling, could feel his own body wake up in ways he thought he'd forgotten, but apparently didn't. Felt Arthur's hand snake down between them, cup him and  _squeeze_.

“Must've been a hell of a dream.”

“All are,” Max huffed, trying to turn his brain off, trying to shut off his thinking and just  _feel_. He bucked against Arthur's hand when it squeezed again, let a small sound escape him and a rush of breath.

It didn't take long for Arthur to have Max's pants undone, and suddenly his hand was touching bare skin, stroking, dry, but  _so good_. Max growled, fingers digging into Arthur's back as the hand moved deftly—no softness about it. It was quick, moving to get the job done. Arthur was panting against Max's throat, could feel the moistness there, and when Max came with a grunt, he bit down on the soft flesh, just hard enough to bruise.

Some tension left Max's body for a moment—just a fleeting moment. When he felt Arthur pressing tender kisses to his jawline, he shoved him away.

“Don't,” Max whispered, quickly doing his pants back up. His eyes flicked from Arthur to the opening of the tent. He could make out a frown on Arthur's face, barely, could feel the frustration in his movements as he flung the tarp open and left into the night.

 

-

 

Max laid awake. Really awake. At least he thought he was awake. He tried to keep his eyes open, didn't want to dream that night. Couldn't handle the whispers, the accusations, the screams... it was becoming too much. His brain was already broken, he couldn't afford to let it rot further.

He rolled out of bed, and out into the open night. The sky was black. No clouds, no moon, and the stars seemed distant. It seemed like there were fewer of them lately, like the Earth was moving further away from the rest of the universe, forgotten. Max sat down outside his tarp, and just stared into the darkness. He was tired, sore, after long days of riding through the Wastes. He welcomed the ache—it reminded him he wasn't dead. Not yet.

Arthur was sitting against his own bike, staring up at the sky. Max couldn't tell whether he was sleeping or not.

“Can't sleep either, huh?” Arthur asked.

Max grunted in response.

Arthur sighed, shifting slightly. “You're really fucking with me, Max, you know that? You want me one minute, won't let me touch you the next. It's messing with my head.”

Max stayed quiet. He felt a pang of guilt. He knew he couldn't let Arthur in, couldn't let Arthur  _see_ , not really. Max was too fucked up to let anybody near him that way.

“We both want the same thing, you know. We're both  _missing_ something—someone. Too many someones.” Arthur sounded quiet, thoughtful. “We're missing a lot from before. It's only getting worse. If you'd let me get closer, Max, we could help each other—”

“No,” Max ground out, “I can't.”

“You  _can_ , but you  _won't_ ,” Arthur snorted. He stood up, walked towards Max, hovered over him. “We're both just lonely. Really fucking lonely.”

Max couldn't argue with that. He couldn't refute, but couldn't exactly agree—was he lonely? He wasn't sure. He'd been alone for so long he wasn't sure he even knew what loneliness was anymore. He just  _was_. He existed in a state of perpetual solitude, moving through time and space with nothing except blood, dust, and motor oil.

Arthur's hands were on his face, stroking, gentle. Even in the darkness, Max could see those brown eyes  _searching,_ almost pleading silently. He reached up, grabbing onto Arthur's hand, leaned into the touch.

He wasn't sure he could give Arthur what he wanted—he wasn't even  _who_ Arthur really wanted.

Arthur was sitting down then, straddling Max's legs. Their faces were close, hands still on Max's face. Max let out a breath, and their mouths slotted together, soft at first. It was the noise that Arthur made that sparked something, and Max's hands were suddenly roaming over Arthur's body. Too many clothes were separating them, and Arthur's tongue was in his mouth, coaxing.

“Fuck,” Max growled, pulling at Arthur's shirt. His mind was blank, and all he wanted was to feel skin-on-skin. With Arthur's shirt off, tossed to the side somewhere, Max could feel flushed, hot skin. Arthur was squirming against him, hard against his thigh.

“Just let me—” Arthur whispered against Max's mouth, hands moving down and tugging at his pants. “Fuck  _yes_.”

Max's brain didn't register when Arthur's pants got taken off, but all it took was a little spit and he was inside him, Arthur riding him like his life depended on. He was groaning against Max's mouth, expression somewhere between pleasure, pain, and desperation. They were both panting, the sounds Arthur was making animalistic, his hands digging into Max's shoulders.

They didn't last long, Max coming with a choked sound, Arthur with the dead man's name on his lips.

 

-

 

— _supposed to be back_

_Save us Max_

_Why didn't you save us_

_Come back to me—_

Smothered. No air. Just hands clawing his skin off, leaving raw muscle. No air. Choking, grasping, drowning. Pain. No air.

_You were supposed to save us_

_Maxmaxmaxmax_

Screaming.

“Max!”

Arthur's neck was in one of his hands. Max's throat felt raw, like he'd been the one screaming. He let go quickly, staring at Arthur, trying to get the words out to apologize, but they never came.

“It's okay,” Arthur said, like he understood. “Some hell of a dream, huh?"

“They all are,” Max sighed. His hands were shaking.

“We should be pretty close to Brisbane by now, don't you think?” Arthur asked. They'd been riding for weeks. They hadn't hit the salt flats yet, but they were probably close. They hadn't seen any other people for weeks, either, though.

“Should be.”

They were running low on water, too. Hopefully the rumors Arthur had heard about people out this way were correct. Run out of water, you were as good as dead.

“They should be there. In Brisbane. They're probably waiting for me.”

Max didn't have it in him anymore to tell Arthur his friends were more than likely dead.

“I was supposed to find them... to find him. I was supposed to find them ages ago. I was supposed to go  _home_ with them—”

“Home?” Max raised an eyebrow. “And where would that be?”

“I don't remember,” Arthur mumbled, and he looked so  _young_ then. “Feels like so long since I've been there. I just know that if I find them, we'll be able to go there.”

“We?”

“If you want.”

Max didn't say anything after that. He hadn't had a home since—

_Jess—_

 

-

 

The salt flats lay stretched out in front of them. Judging by the twisted rebar, and scattered bits of steel poking through the sands, they were in Brisbane—or what was left of it. All that was left was scrap metal and sand.

Arthur dismounted his bike, tore his goggles off. Stood there like his heart was breaking. “This can't be it. They were supposed to be here.”

Max didn't know what to say. Didn't know what he  _could_ say. There was nothing for miles around them. “Nothing here but death.”

“Cairns. They're there maybe. They  _have_ to be.”

“Arthur,” Max growled, “there's nothing. No one.”

“You're wrong,” his voice cracked. “They're here somewhere.”

The winds whipped up sand around them. Nothing but silence.

Arthur fell to his knees, eyes unblinking as they stared out into the salt flats. “I was supposed to find them.”

Max walked to his side, and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, squeezed. “Arthur—”

“ _Don't_ ,” he hissed, shrugging Max's hand off, hands balled up at his sides. “We'll stay here tonight. We wait.”

 

-

 

They fucked that night in some sort of desperate attempt at comfort, Max supposed. Arthur's eyes were screwed shut the entire time, with him making these broken, sad sounds that Max  _hated_. He had the dead man's name tumbling out of his mouth over and over— _Eames Eames Eames._

It was enough to drive Max insane.

When they finished, Arthur curled himself into a ball next to him, and didn't sleep. Nothing but silence and the wind.

 

-

 

They were packing up to leave the next morning, though Arthur insisted they should stay. Max reasoned that they were running out of water, and food, and needed to find people soon unless they wanted to die. The salt in the air was making them thirstier, and they needed to drive further inland.

It was then that they heard motors in the distance.

Max tensed. He grabbed hold of the shotgun strapped to his bike, hissing at Arthur to get down.

They waited for what felt like hours, the sound of engines growing closer and closer. Max kept the shotgun trained on the horizon, breath held, finger on the trigger.

Two figures on motorcycles emerged. One man and a small woman.

Arthur shot up, and started running.

“Arthur!” Max growled, keeping hold of the gun, not moving.

“Cobb! Ariadne!” Arthur was yelling, running through sand as fast as he could.

The two figures flung their masks down, and screamed. They threw their arms around Arthur, and Max could hear what sounded like laughing from where he was. Arthur was looking back at Max, gesturing for him to come closer.

Max approached with caution, shotgun still in hand.

Arthur was smiling, bigger than Max had ever seen. “Dom, Ariadne. I can't believe it's really you guys."

“Arthur,” the man, Dom, breathed out, an arm wrapped around Arthur. “It's really you.”

“Is he with you—Eames?” Arthur asked.

Dom's eyes flicked over to Max. “No. We thought he was with you.”

Arthur's face fell at that. He looked lost.

“No,” he sighed. “No.” He looked at Max with such a pleading expression. “This is Max.”


End file.
